


Ex malo bonum

by ChromeHoplite, m_aruka



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anal Sex, Demon Sebastian Michaelis, Light Bondage, M/M, Pandora's Box, Rimming, SebaCiel - Freeform, dubcon, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 06:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_aruka/pseuds/m_aruka
Summary: When Vincent and Rachel are unable to conceive a child, an infant born of vengeance was left on their doorstep along with a box engraved with the following message:Ciel PhantomhiveHeir to the Queen’s WatchdogKeeper of EvilsDo not open(Or, a retelling of Pandora’s Box: A collaboration with artist @paradistea for Sebaciel Halloween Week/Devilish Appetites)





	Ex malo bonum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whore/gifts).



> It has been both a joy and privilege to collaborate with the incredible [@paradistea](https://paradistea.tumblr.com/) for this project. Their artwork is just incredible and so inspiring. You can see their sketches and masterpieces for this work here: [Art 1](https://paradistea.tumblr.com/post/179486384668/%F0%9D%94%88%F0%9D%94%B5-%F0%9D%94%AA%F0%9D%94%9E%F0%9D%94%A9%F0%9D%94%AC-%F0%9D%94%9F%F0%9D%94%AC%F0%9D%94%AB%F0%9D%94%B2%F0%9D%94%AA-when-vincent-and-rachel-are-unable) [Art 2](https://paradistea.tumblr.com/post/179486948068/bonus-sketch-postvisual-brainstorming-for-my)

Undertaker long lived in London. In fact, he'd been there since before the Romans came to conquer and had settled among the Celts when he’d finally escaped the political hegemony thriving in the prominent city-state of Athens during its Golden Age. When Ecgherht was established as the first stable monarch of Anglo-Saxon England, he appointed a Watchdog, a loyal, but brutally sycophantic attendant who oversaw to the annihilation of unnecessary evils unleashed on the human race. 

Now, some might say that War was a terrible evil, as were Famine and Plague, but those individuals would be wrong. These were kindnesses bestowed by the gods as a natural system of checks and balances that he himself looked after -- these kept the population in a state of symbiosis with its available resources and instilled in the heart of man, a healthy dose of fear. That was until Vincent Phantomhive took up his mother’s mantle as Watchdog. Under his vigilance, there were fewer evils allowed to flourish, people prospered more and lived longer. Undertaker was disgraced by his fellow Olympians, cast from their inner circle and so he sought revenge against the man responsible for his fall from grace. 

He studied Phantomhive, pored over his ancestry, spent months following him, scrutinized every one of his techniques and when he came up empty handed, he befriended him. As time went on and the pair became closer, Undertaker discovered that his rival was flawless in all areas of his life but one: Vincent Phantomhive was unable to father an heir for his prestigious legacy. 

One night after a sumptuous dinner at Phantomhive Manor, both men enjoyed a fine aged Scotch in the opulent cigar room. Under the guise of also working for the Queen, Undertaker offered a solution to Vincent’s problem in the form of a gift from the Monarch herself. 

“As you know, _dear friend_ , it has been my life’s work to do her Majesty’s bidding. Given the skills I have acquired in animancy and the natural talents that I have been bestowed by the gods, she has requested that I create a child in your image so that he might follow in your footsteps when you are much too old to carry out her orders,” Undertaker explained casually, mouth poised at the lip of his snifter, inhaling its disgusting aroma -- it held nothing of the lavish fragrance of ambrosia.

Vincent frowned at his friend and lit a cigar. He drew deeply on the butt, let the smoke fill his lungs, then slowly exhaled. “Come now, Cedric, we both know a child can only be conceived, and I am a man of my vows. Though Rachel suffers terribly from fits of melancholy at our inability to become pregnant, infidelity of this kind would surely kill her.” 

“Nonsense, I have great respect for the institution of marriage, Vincent,” Undertaker waved his hand as he dismissed the other man’s concern. “This child will be _special_ , beyond compare. I will work tirelessly until I have achieved perfection.” He tipped the glass back, imbibed the rest of his liquor and took his leave. “I will send word soon. Her Majesty asks we speak of this to no one,” he tacked on at the end to ensure his vengeance was carried out unsuspiciously. 

Three months later, a beautiful child with deep, dark sapphire eyes fixed in a full, round face with skin the colour of cream, was left on the doorstep of the infamous countryside manor, along with an eerie skeleton key and an engraved jewel encrusted box. It read:

__

Ciel Phantomhive 

__

Heir to the Queen’s Watchdog 

__

Keeper of Evils 

__

Do not open 

The overjoyed couple took in the babe and the burden with which he was delivered and loved him immediately. Trusting the individual that gifted them the child, Vincent pocketed the key, but the box itself was too exquisite to keep hidden, so it was displayed prominently in the boy’s nursery.

As years went by, Ciel grew and became more alluring, and so did the box. The latter went from being placed on a delicate shelf to being moved to a small night table. At twelve years of age, the box now occupied its very own corner in Ciel’s chambers. Having developed a mastery for words and music, the boy would often be found leaning against it, reading or else playing violin for no audience but the adorned trove. 

By the time Ciel had become a young man capable of replacing his father, his reputation preceded him. The gorgeous youth was courted by men and women alike, many of which came from all over Europe and Asia to try to win his favour. Some dubbed him the Aphrodite of London, while others argued he was more a Helen of Troy in possession of such beauty that he was worth killing and dying for. 

But Ciel was not only bewitchingly stunning, he was virtuous, honest despite his upbringing in close proximity to the underbelly of immorality, kind despite the harsh measures in which he’d been taught to handle them and pure despite the lust of strangers that dogged him constantly. 

Like the man that raised him, Ciel was short on flaws, but it did not mean that they were absent from him. At eighteen, the heir had matured into an intensely curious little thing. Night after night, once his parents were sleeping, he obsessed over the box. When they left on business, he abandoned his studies and music altogether to merely sit at its side in silence to stare at it. His eyes would narrow in on the lock as if they had the power to break it open. He committed the ancient scrawl to memory, recited the words to himself even though he could not understand their meaning. He muttered them in his sleep, and when he dreamt of it, he heard sin call to him from within and saw eyes like burning rubies behind the keyhole shifting impatiently. 

The first time his curiosity got the better of him, he feigned illness, imploring his parents to go without him to the Countess’s ball, reassuring them that he would be well left in the care of hired help. Once they took their leave, he ignored the thousands of times Vincent and Rachel had forbidden him to search for the key to the box and invaded the privacy of his parents’ chambers to find it. 

It was not difficult. The key had been hidden among his childish things: a lock of slate, baby-fine hair, a well-loved toy rabbit with which he used to sleep, a gold rattle - gifted by the Queen herself, multiple pieces of infantile art and a variety of cherished books with talking animals. 

He returned to his room, and ran his fingers sensually along the arched lid, the way a lover would stroke the curves of a soft body. He crooned to it, pout brushing against the hard surface, and he was not sure if it was his lips trembling or the box itself shaking in anticipation that startled him. He inserted the key and held it there, trying to fight the guilt he felt at his disobedience and pushing the image of his father’s disappointed and angry face from his mind. 

Perhaps it was this fear that made him stop, or maybe it was the subtle realization that he had lied and stolen to get to this point; nevertheless, he removed the key from where it fit perfectly and stored it back from whence it came. 

The following weeks were torture, filled with sleepless nights, a lack of appetite for proper food and a craving for carnality. He buried that need, and the more he avoided interacting with the box, the more difficult he found the task. He took to sleeping in another room, but it only intensified the void and made the longing palpable, painful. There was a profound sense of betrayal in staying away from it, and his only solace was in draping himself over it, begging, sobbing for its forgiveness .

On the eve of the transferring of responsibility from Father to Heir, Ciel writhed on his stomach, legs kicking restlessly from beneath a presence, arms pinned above his head, ravaged in his four-poster. He shouldn't have liked it but he did, prayed every night for it to happen. He cried, mouth going slack, drooling into his pillow when his hips were drawn back and he was filled and stretched and filled again. Then he woke from the fevered dream he'd had repeatedly since puberty, sweat and semen soaking his undergarments and sheets. Panting, heart racing, he removed the soiled articles and found a peculiar nightdress draped over his armchair. It was peculiar because it had not been there hours before, it was also peculiar because he had never owned such a thing; it resembled a Grecian garb, and when he picked it up, it was lighter than organza, softer than silk and seemed to spill like water through his fingers. 

Feeling ashamed by his state of obvious arousal incited by the lewd dream and by extension his lack of modesty even in the privacy of his own chambers, he wore the flowing, short robe and traipsed across the hall to his parents’ room with one directive guiding each of his steps. 

Having been none the wiser to his earlier deceit, his parents had not moved the key from its original refuge. Soundlessly, he carried the stash of his baby belongings to his room to not wake Vincent and Rachel by rummaging through some of the noisier objects. 

Ciel was not sure what he would find ensconced within, but as he turned the key, he imagined the finest silks, one-of-a-kind treasures, gold coins, rare manuscripts, and jewels galore. And for anyone else, that would have been more than sufficient. But Ciel had a lonely, barren heart and it ached for something more. Not love, for he received it freely, not admiration since he was courted weekly. It was vice, not virtue he fancied because he’d not been born with it, and in the days leading up to this moment, he’d developed a taste for it. 

The lid of the bejeweled box opened with a creak and he leapt back as buzzing plumes of thick, tanned soot seeped from the inside, swirling high into his bedroom, twisting and turning idly as it accumulated on the ceiling. His eyes followed their sinuous progression, amazed when it took on distinct shapes, devious purplish eyespots blinking at him from the center of the rhythmically flapping wings. Moths, tiny ones, thousands of them. 

He held his breath for a fraction of a heartbeat and they were upon him, the heavy, oppressive cloud of insects swarming insidiously at his inner light. He knew from experience that they were not to sting or bite, but these were not ordinary, their wings were sharp and cut across his milky flesh like a knife in butter. 

There was no sense in beating them off, there were far too many, and so he took cover under his pristine bed sheets, staining them in crimson as they soaked up the multitude of lacerations. A whimper broke from between his pursed lips and it was acknowledged by a breathy, mocking laughter so sinister it made the boy go rigid with dread. 

Peeking from behind the almost sheer fabric of his sheet, he saw it climb out of the box. Its hair was wild wisps of midnight sky harbouring glossy, spiraled horns, its fangs razored and ebony-tipped, and the glare with which it held him was wine-eyed and malicious. It pulled itself out from what seemed a great depth, arms flexing the taut muscle under its flesh, adding pressure to the upper arm bracelets coiled about its biceps. Its clawed hands, dipped in darkest ash, gripped the brim of its box and it groaned under its force. It fell forward, with wings like dusted vapor as if it had fallen a considerable height. It was graceful and poised to pounce like an elegant beast, its legs, long and dangerously adorned with boots that scaled his thighs and spikes for heels that left divots in Ciel’s floor. 

Though glorious in appearance, and immodestly veiled in smoke that cascaded over one shoulder, down his midsection and onto the floor, there was no mistaking that he was the very embodiment of evil. 

Before Ciel could apologize for opening the box, and plead the fiend to be merciful, he was thrown off his bed with a flick of heinous, cruel fingers and pinned hard against the wall. The sudden slamming sent photos hung crashing to the ground, along with the sconce the heir kept lit at all times to starve his fear of the dark. The small flame caught on nearby drapes and fire spread along the wall, its heat painfully licking the boy's toes. 

The entity stood, sauntered to its prey as its dark aura billowed and stretched out seeking the blaze and choking it. It did not stop there. The darkness filled the room, drowning the light from outside the window. It dissipated through the boy’s skull, crept into his ears and invaded his mind. The smoke rolled over the blue and whites of his eyes like fog and he was blind to everything. He shuddered, blanching as murky filmed fingers snaked along his legs, grasped his thighs and slithered between them. He tensed, set to scream when it filled his mouth and nose. 

Ciel coughed and sputtered, gasped and suffocated. He could not bring his hands to his neck to relieve the imaginary pressure and he could not shout for help. 

But help came nonetheless. 

“Ciel!” Vincent called in the thick black mist, voice laced with panic. “Ciel! What have you done?” 

Sightlessness obscured the boy from his father, he was muted and unable to reply or warn him in time. The door was slammed shut and a piercing cry filled Ciel's ears, followed by a wet, gurgling sound. 

“You need to see what your disobedience has cost, Ciel,” the fiend intonated, amusement colouring the sing-song cadence with which it spoke. 

Immediately the enigmatic aura vanished and alabaster replaced the beady blackness of the moths’ eyes, illuminating the room. Ciel's eyes swam with tears as he searched for his father, his breathing still ragged and laboured. “Father?” he whispered when he could not locate the man. 

A groan responded. It was sickly and agonizing and came from above. 

Straining his neck, Ciel peered upwards and saw him there, stretched as though he were being hanged and quartered by imaginary forces, his throat slit sacrificially and the blood spilling into the entity's open mouth. 

Ciel stared in horror, watching the man who raised him become paler and wither as he was drained to excess. He sobbed silently when the lifeless corpse was picked apart one piece at a time by brutal claws and thrown unceremoniously into newly blazing onyx flames cast upon the raised hearth of the fireplace.

Something from within the pit of the open trunk stirred and its soft coo echoed in the room. Ciel's hope was bolstered as a dove struggled to make its way out. It took flight, air vibrating the tips of its feathers, whistling the nearer it got to to the boy. This was it; Ciel was sure that the bird was the attachment he’d made all those years ago, and now he understood that it had only wanted its freedom from the beast. Before it nuzzled Ciel’s cheek, he caught sight of his own eyes reflected in the depths of the dove’s very human ones, it gave a drawn-out, grateful chirrup that turned strangled cry. 

Sooner than Ciel could react, the bird was wrangled by the fiend's extended, forked tongue, it was drawn into its gash of a mouth and devoured. Ciel moaned, trying to drown out the crunch of bone and slurping of blood that dripped down the entity's chin and soiled its garb. What remained of his ally was swallowed with a satisfied gulp that bulged the fiend’s neck. 

“Hope is always the last thing to come out the box. It is, after all the worst of all evils, the most cruel, wouldn't you agree?” The beast rhapsodized, wiping its face with the back of its shadow-tinted hand. 

When Ciel finally found his voice, it was cold, resigned and without life. “Devil. Foul, evil thing.” 

“All these terms of endearment, but Sebastian will do, love,” the devil smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “Now you need to stay quiet, or else your mother will want to interrupt us as well. We don’t want that, do we?” 

Ciel was released from its hold against the wall, and fell onto his knees. He gazed at Sebastian, inner turmoil making itself known by the gleaming of his too-blue eyes and shook his head once, no. Racked with pain, legs shifting beneath him, palms to the floor, he tried to stand, but couldn’t. His body was too heavy, an invisible weight keeping him prostrated before the devil. 

“I like you like this, Ciel. Submissive and adoring. Do you remember all those melodies you played for me? All the stories you made up about us? I have some of my own as well, ones that might interest you,” Sebastian purred as his fog-like robe melted from his body, deviating from fine fabric to hazy tendrils. “Would you like to hear one?” 

“No.” 

A coiled shadow snaked its way to Ciel’s chin, forcing it skywards. It wrapped around his head, tangled itself gruelingly in his slate hair, securing the roots and compelled the boy to nod. 

Sebastian’s chest rumbled contentedly as he stood over the demi-god’s abomination, ball of his right foot crushing the boy’s fingers, because he could, because he’d been dying to do it to _someone_ from the moment he’d been trapped upon Creation. 

“Your body always says more than your words, Ciel. Do you understand? You’re not yelling or crying as you would like to with your fingers breaking, but I can see it in your face, in the tightening of your jaw, in the sweat accumulating on your upper lip. My, my, such pride, how you handle pain well, my darling.” 

“I’m not your darling,” Ciel snarled, wincing when the pressure came off his fingers. He allowed himself a sigh of relief and commanded the entity, “Go on. Tell your story.” 

“Very well. One day, a boy was created. Not born, created… out of vengeance. He was not meant to be a perfect child though he was raised that way. He was not a gift, he was a curse, to himself and to the world. Either he would be a vessel to be filled _repeatedly_ ,” the devil said, tearing the Grecian gown off the boy’s prone body, softly at first, pulling threads from the garment one at a time. The more the milky flesh was revealed, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the smooth curve of his spine, the swell of his backside, the more the devil ached to make his claim, until the fabric was shredded beyond repair. 

He took a calming breath, and continued, “Or he would unleash unto the human race calamities which they had never seen, thanks to the bloodline that groomed him. The choice of course would be his own, for evil is always propagated under the guise of free will.” 

He paused, allowing Ciel to come to the realization that this was no story. It did not take much time. The boy’s eyes were wise and knowing, and his body stiffened the more the tendrils caressed it. How he’d waited for this moment, for Ciel to know the truth, for Ciel to know _him_ , after the years the devil devoted to listening to the boy speak, sleep, cry and shamefully confess the unfairness of his burden as heir. Those rare, slivered glimpses of hatred and resentment were what Sebastian lived for, the reason he coveted him like none before. 

“So this is my punishment? To take the evils of the world into myself, or to set them free and cause people undo misery?” 

“Yessss,” Sebastian hissed. 

“Then set them free,” the boy said flatly. What did it matter to him if nameless people suffered, when all along he was but a pawn in someone’s game? 

The devil hummed obscenely, feeding off the boy’s sweet fury. “If you say so, love, but it is only fair that you catch a peek of the anguish you will cause.” He crouched down before Ciel, divested of everything, except for his boots and laid a hand over the boy’s eyes. 

“Illness,” Ciel heard Sebastian murmur, and his mind was filled with images of discomfort and torment. Of boils and bumps, of crying women clasping their dead children to their chests. Then, of only himself, frail with a pneumatic condition, gasping and unable to breathe. 

“Guilt.” The images changed, showed people ravaged by remorse, rocking back and forth, padded rooms, neglected families, addiction and vices flourishing. Then again, himself alone, mourning those deaths. 

“Hate.” The manor set to fire, people watching it burn when they discover the identify of whom had ruined the world. His mother tortured before his eyes as retribution. Useless discrimination, vagrence and humiliation. Then himself, alone with the knowledge of what he’d done in opening the box. 

“Debauchery.” And this time before the images appeared, a vapoury wisp ran the length of his back, curled around his thighs and spread them. “You’ll like this one, Ciel, I promise.” He was jolted forward, cheek pressed hard against the floor as a thin tendril slid itself inside him. It was joined by another, then another, until there was a slight stretching sensation.

“Mmph…” Ciel gritted, his body jerking back and forth on the tendrils, knees raw from rubbing until he was kept still by the shadow. He wept, though not from pain, and saw in his mind, individuals overcome with lust, raping innocents, spoiling youth and deploring chastity. 

“And death,” Sebastian crooned, removing himself from the boy’s body, allowing him to get a glimpse of dug pits filled to the brim with indiscriminate --

“Stop! Please! I beg you, I’ve changed my mind,” Ciel pleaded, striving to tackle the weight bearing down on him so he could stand on his knees. When it relented, he tumbled forward, clung to the devil’s legs for support, tears falling from his face onto the inhuman flesh of evil. 

“Ah, little one, it’s not all bad,” the devil soothed the boy, wiping his tears and petting his hair patronizingly. “Yes, you will be mine to claim, my possession, my Ciel. But I take good care of my belongings. I will tend to your evils, love: heal you when you are sick, talk you through your guilt, I will let no harm come to you and will meet all your insatiable needs. Best of all, I shall never let this body die.” 

Ciel irrationally nuzzled the demon’s leg, desperate to clear his mind of the carnage he spared everyone. “Yes. Tend me to me, evil servant,” he beseeched from between broken sobs, “Sisyphus need no longer push his bolder and Prometheus is free from the eagle that feasts on him daily, for I have rid evil from the world.”

“What a good boy, a pure boy. Will you cleanse your demon, love?” 

Ciel dropped to the floor once more, an ecstatic, narcotized smile tugging at his lips as the visions of apocalyptic occurrences fled from his mind. The servant’s boots were littered with millennia of fresh and caked blood, so he started there, little kitten tongue swiping over the slippery leather. He bathed the footwear in his spit, chasing it down the devil’s shin and dragging it back up again. He laved the pointed toes, nipped the spiked heels and mouthed his way back up the calves. 

The devil rasped his pleasure, feeling the tickle of Ciel’s wet muscle on his boots as if it were his own flesh. He studied the boy’s plump backside, the way it rose and fell and rose again with the motions of his oral fondling. Sebastian’s cock stiffened, the rouged tip darkening to ebony, dripping ambrosial milk onto the boy’s face. He pushed Ciel aside delicately with his foot and bent to help him to his feet. 

“What a good boy,” he praised, thumbing Ciel’s bottom lip; its colour matched the beautiful flush of his face. “I’ve never been so clean, my darling. Let me return the favour and make you experience something new.” 

“Will it hurt?” Ciel exhaled, trepidation spiking his pulse when he recalled the throbbing ache of his knees and fingers. 

The devil immersed the boy in his aura, it warmed, was soothing this time rather than asphyxiating. Numbness replaced pain, and shivers thrilled the smallest hairs of Ciel’s body when Sebastian breathed against his ear, “I won’t ever hurt you again, love, so long as you remain mine. Now, get on the bed.” 

Ciel obeyed, his movements lissome like he’d never suffered a hurt in his life. He crawled onto the four-poster and went no further than the edge when Sebastian’s large hands dug into his hips. 

“Right there, Ciel. Let me admire you.” Ciel’s body was immaculate from every angle, but from behind, the boy’s perfect heart-shaped rear made the devil _hungry_. For so long he’d fantasized about the boy, catching sight of him from the keyhole set in the box when he passed by, stroking himself as he spoke, climaxing as he plucked the strings of his instrument. His thumbs and forefingers kneaded the flesh, pinching it pink and releasing it. He growled as Ciel fussed under his touch, squirming as he spread his cheeks apart to revere the perfect rosy pucker set between them. “You’re so clean, so pure, let me corrupt you from the inside out.”

Upon having agreed to take in the devil to spare humanity, Ciel felt for the first time, like he had a meaningful purpose. He had not been the real heir for he had never been biologically Vincent’s. His contract with the devil was not a duty passed down by some monarch, this was divine right, a sacred need between creation and evil. Ciel braced himself for what Sebastian had done earlier, fisting the sheets tightly and waited. 

He was not expecting the heat and moisture that slid down the seam of his bottom and dripped from the small, hardened swellings between his legs. “S-Sebastian?” 

“Mhmm?” With his black, forked tongue, he lapped at the boy’s hole playfully, flattening it against the smooth surface and licking his way up from top to bottom to top again. “Delicious boy,” he muttered, “all mine.” And he picked him up by the hips and stuffed his face between the rounded, soft cheeks, penetrating him with his tongue.

Ciel moaned, clenching around the sopping appendage as it delved deeper, pulled out and forced its way back in again. His eyes rolled back as he gripped the demon’s hips, holding on, as Sebastian’s ruthless cock smeared against the outside of his throat and the side of his face, leaving viscid, gluey residue upon his skin. His own smaller member pulsed along the demon’s clavicle, trapped sorely between their bodies. 

The boy writhed wantonly upside down in his arms, tendrils holding him flush against his body as Sebastian kissed his hole, lips smacking loudly, pulled out, spit on the fluttering little thing and ate him again and again. His tongue plunged and swirled, felt the heat inside Ciel rise. He suckled the flesh noisily, grazing the edges with his teeth. 

Ciel was losing his mind, struggled to think with the blood rushing to this head. His muscle contracted around the demon, and his thighs shook as they hugged his face.“I… I feel… Sebastian I’m going to…”

“Oh no you don’t, my darling boy, not yet.” His tendrils threw Ciel back onto the bed, where he lay panting, chest heaving, bucking and thrashing like a small beast. Sebastian turned him over like a rag doll, spread his legs apart, knees splayed wide and lifted his slender hips. He was not as delicate as he should have been with the petite thing, but was true to his word. The tips of his digits slid into Ciel’s opening, two at once, then three, pumping in and out of him at a harsh pace.When Ciel cried out, head shooting back, it was in pleasure. 

Sebastian worked the boy open generously until he was gaping, until both their desires twisted and called to one another. He stroked himself, claws over cock, tip weeping profusely, soiling the sheets as it spilled in pearly strings. “Bite, love,” he commanded the boy, compelling the pillow nearer to Ciel. 

Ciel complied, burying his face in down, screaming as the demon sheathed himself. His nerves were aflame, his muscles tense and his body responded accordingly. He reached for the bars at the headboard and tried to pull himself away. 

“Shhh… no, no no... don’t go, come back my darling,” the demon taunted, leaning over the boy, ruffling his hair with his breath as he whispered, “it will feel good soon, I promise.” 

Ciel whined, turning his head and nodding. The demon’s touch was anesthetic as he rubbed circles along his tailbone, and loosened the joints. He found himself pushing back against the intrusion, then drawing forward again. 

“A natural, as I knew you would be,” Sebastian cooed, fucking into the boy with shallow thrusts, stringing Ciel along, making the boy cry out from his cock being too big to it not being enough. He swelled, member fattening the longer he was inside him. “You were made for me, Ciel. Not them. Not for the world. For me. To temper me. To control my appetites.” 

Ciel groaned into the mattress in response. The thick cock surged in and out of his tightness, filling him, driving over a sensitive spot as tendrils kept his hips high and Sebastian slammed relentlessly into him. He felt delirious, grunting and moaning into tear-streaked fabric in time with slick skin slapping slick skin.

Sebastian’s hands traced the boy’s rib cage, drew him in harder, felt Ciel’s pulse quicken under his fingers. The sound of being impaled, squelching, hot and shameless tore the demon’s breath from his chest. Ciel’s orgasm was close, he felt it in the way his body milked his cock, but he was resisting. “Let it come, Ciel,” he coaxed him, “Don’t fight it, love.” 

“But it feels so good, I don’t want it to end,” Ciel cried in sweet agony, tears rolling down his burning cheeks. For his noncompliance, he was flipped onto his back, ankles and wrists bound in inky, trembling tendrils. Ciel’s body arched like a bow, and he chanted the demon’s name as Sebastian sunk into him, gripping his rear, claws prickling the skin and bleeding it. 

“Let go,” he said softly, mouthing the back of Ciel’s calf, and the sound vibrated through the boy, shivering across every overstimulated nerve. He spoiled him, unyielding in his thrusts, in the roll of his hips, wrecking the small body so that it would never be the same again. He fucked harder, faster, giving Ciel no choice but to relent. 

“Oh… oh….” Nothing in Ciel’s life had prepared him to feel so open, so ready, so hot and greedy and primal. The sensation racked his frame ungently, and as the tendrils let go, the demon lowered himself over his love. Ciel gripped him feverishly, the spoils of his first orgasm painting the demon, laying claim to him and sealing his fate. It trailed down Sebastian’s taut abdomen, and clung stickily to Ciel as the demon lowered himself onto him. 

The boy moaned, clenching tight around him and gave the fiend what he wanted: his relief, his pleasure and his brazen sin. Sebastian took it with a snarl, his cock pulsing and releasing inside him as he dug his fangs into Ciel’s shoulder, pilfering his purity and followed him over the edge. 

He rose from the panting, near-boneless boy moments later, cock still wet, glistening and dripping his own juices as he pulled it out from within Ciel’s twitching hole. The ever-present tendrils cradled the supple form as he gathered it in his arms, holding it close to his chest. Weakly, the boy gazed upon him, a confused expression on his face, long lashes fluttering in an effort to remain awake. 

“Shh…” the devil soothed him, petting him affectionately, “it won’t hurt one bit, Ciel.” 

The boy’s face twisted in agony regardless, the former bliss melting from his features into something inhuman, more delicate and fragile than Ciel already was. Smoke curled in obsidian threads around him, shielding him from eager, hungry crimson eyes. Sebastian felt him convulse and diminish, his flesh became lightly layered, soft and downy until it wasn’t skin at all. 

The dark vapour dissipated, knitting itself onto the entity’s body in its former, flowing robe. In place of the boy in his arms was a dove in his hands with alexandrite eyes shifting between clear azure and violent vermilion in the incandescence of the demon’s own. It gave a chilling, mourning coo and clapped its wings together indignantly. 

“You’re the prettiest one by far, my love,” Sebastian intimated, bringing the bird to his face to caress its silky plumage. He crossed the boy’s chambers in four long strides, stepped over the lip of the box and descended into its abyss with his newfound hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to @nerdythangs and @gocaitycat for their beta skills. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments fuel this writer <3


End file.
